Sapphire

Sapphire was not entirely surprised when she entered her bedchamber to find her father and aunt waiting for her. Angelique took one look at their faces and backed up. “I’ll go to my room.”

“Non, Angelique.” Armand spoke from a woven beachwood chair under one of the open windows. If he noticed Angelique was not in her ball gown, he gave no indication, nor did he make mention of the fact that Sapphire’s hair was tangled and hanging loose, her gown tattered.

“What I have to say affects you as well as Sapphire,” he sighed. “Come in and close the door behind you. You two ladies have shared enough with our guests today, do you not think?”

“What is it that cannot wait?” Sapphire demanded. She knew Aunt Lucia must have told her father what the women had said in the garden about Sapphire’s mother. She had a hundred questions for her father but she just wasn’t ready to ask them yet. “I’m tired, Papa.” She approached her chifforobe, pretending she was about to begin undressing. “It would be better if we talked tomorrow.”

“Non,” Armand said sharply, startling all three women. “Tonight, young lady, you will not have your way! I will speak to you now, fille, and you, out of respect for your father, will listen. I should have had this talk with you—your mother and I should have—years ago, but we cannot change that now. Our guests have remedied that, haven’t they.” He hesitated. “All we can do is go on from here. Now sit down on the bed.” He raised his hand in Angelique’s direction. “You, as well, Angel. I warn you, I will not be handled by the three of you. Not tonight.”

Astonished by her father’s demeanor, Sapphire did as she was told and silently walked to the bed to sit beside Aunt Lucia. Angelique sat on the older woman’s other side.

“Let me first say that I am sorry, Sapphire, that all has come about in the way that it has. I must say that I did not always agree with your mother’s choices, but they were hers to make,” he said. “I know you understand that Lord Carlisle came to finalize a business agreement with me, but he also came to meet you so that I might finalize my plans to send you to London—”

“London!” Sapphire jumped off the bed. “I am not going to London!”

Armand rose from his chair. “I told you to sit, fille, and you will sit!”

Under her father’s angry gaze, she leaned against the bed but did not sit. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited stubbornly.

“In my grief over the loss of your mother, I have allowed you to run wild.”

“Papa, I have not—”

“Do not interrupt me again!”

Sapphire pressed her lips together in silence, but she felt as if she could leap out of her skin. Had her father lost his mind? Go to London? What could possibly be there for her?

“I have allowed you to run too freely,” Armand continued, beginning to pace in the large, airy bedchamber. “Since your mother’s death, I have allowed you, against my better judgment, to cease your lessons, to run about the island, unsupervised, to meet with men in private that you should not—”

“Papa, Maurice and I—” This time, he only had to give Sapphire a look and she was silent.

“You will go to London with Lord and Lady Carlisle and Lucia has agreed to go as your chaperone.”

“But what about me? What am I to do?” Angelique rose, suddenly as upset as Sapphire, obviously for a different reason. “Can’t I go to London, as well?”

“Well, I suppose you may,” Armand said, taken by surprise. “I wasn’t certain you would want to, my dear. To leave your home village, to—”

“Of course I want to go!” Angelique clasped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, Papa, you don’t know how much I’ve always wanted to go to London.”

Sapphire glared at Angelique, unable to let go of her anger toward her yet. “I thought you wanted to go to New York. No, wait, that was last week. Where was it you wanted to go this week? Athens? Paris? Or was it Brussels?” Sapphire mused.

“I want to go to all those places,” Angelique responded, nonplussed. “But most of all, right now, London. Oh, thank you, Papa!”

Sapphire turned to look at her father again. Her mother used to say that Angelique was always so easy to please, unlike Sapphire. Nothing was ever good enough for Sapphire, nothing was ever entirely agreeable—unless it was her idea. “I don’t want to go to London, Papa.” She looked down. It was hard for her to give in. She glanced up at him again, her arms still crossed over her chest. “If this is about Maurice—”

“This is not about that loathsome boy!” Armand said abruptly, turning on his heels to look at her. “Sapphire, you don’t understand. You don’t know who you are.”

“Oh, we’re back to that again, are we?” She moved away from the bed. “I’m still nothing but a child to you, still unable, in your eyes, to make my own decisions, unable to decide for myself what is best for me?” She took a step toward him. “Well, you’re mistaken. I know precisely who I am and what I want out of life. I am Sapphire Lucia Fabergine, daughter of Sophie and Armand Fabergine, and I want nothing more than—”

“You are not my daughter,” Armand said, looking her in the eye.

Sapphire’s throat constricted and her knees went weak. “What?” she managed to say.

“Sapphire, come sit beside me,” Lucia said calmly, trying to take her hand and lead her to the bed.

“No.” Sapphire pulled her arm from her aunt. First this terrible thing about her mother—and now this? She stared at her father. “Is my entire life a lie? Has anyone ever told the truth in this house? Papa, what are you saying?”

Armand’s lower lip trembled. It was obvious he was in pain, not just emotionally, but physically, as well. “Please,” she said quietly, reaching out to take his arm. “Sit and tell me what you have to tell me.” Surprisingly, he allowed her to lead him back to the chair.